


Somewhat Damaged

by ipomea



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Past Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism, in a roundabout way, one-sided, this shit is pretty sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipomea/pseuds/ipomea
Summary: Drunk and lonely, Higgs decides to order a pizza.Definite game spoilers.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges & Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	Somewhat Damaged

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and (not so) sweet while I work on something longer.

It's another day alone in his shelter, another one of  _ those _ days, where Higgs' mind's circles so fast he could throw up. Even with the threat of nausea, he clings onto the bottle and keeps drinking. He's already a third of the way into it; why stop now? It makes it all worse, _ so  _ much worse, but he doesn't care. Sometimes it's so bad he feels like taking out his rifle and pulling the trigger, barrel pointed at his chin, kissing goodbye to the world and everything in it. But what he's scared of most—more than the idea of dying or living—is repatriation. The thought of _ knowing  _ he'd be forced to live out his days with no control over it horrifies him more than anything else. Even before he'd heard of those damn  _ repatriates  _ he'd tried to stamp out his pathetic life several times before. He was always unsuccessful, always just a touch too half-assed in his attempts. He'd wake up among bottles of alcohol and empty packets of pills, feeling like his stomach was full of corrosive acid.

Who _ was  _ Higgs Monaghan? He can barely even remember anymore. 'Higgs' was a name he'd given himself so long ago he couldn't remember the name he'd been born with; it's something pushed so far into the recesses of his mind it won't ever be found again. He wishes he could push everything there. His very first memory—the look on his mama's face as she hung from the ceiling in that bunker. Broken bones and cigarette burns. The last memory of his so-called childhood, blood dripping down on his face from that bastard's neck as he dug the knife in. Some things are just too heavy to be buried under false nihilism and other superfluous ideologies.

No matter how hard Amelie drills the idea of beautiful destruction of all life in his mind, he still feels the dizzying, illogical pull towards Sam, the very picture of hope and longevity. It makes no sense—the man vying for total destruction yearning for the very man who had just begun to put the shattered pieces of the world back together. But if he's anything, Higgs is a man of contradiction. He struts around calling himself _ the particle of God _ when, in reality, he feels like some sick, corrupted heretic. He's well aware that Peter Higgs himself detested that nickname. It's a little self-deprecating joke he enjoys all by himself, just like he does everything else.

Like countless nights before, he sits on his cot and stares up at  _ those _ walls. The pictures stare back, piercing right through his soul. Lovingly and painstakingly arranged in chronological order, all connected by bits of red string that don't really mean anything. He has to tell himself that it means something just so he can excuse traipsing around and pasting these indecent images on his wall. Sam dozing off among the grass. Sam clumsily tumbling when he'd stacked up too much cargo to handle. Sam's face, his hair, his smile.  _ Sam.  _ Higgs doesn't know what hour it is. Hell, he barely knows what day it is anymore, but he feels like ordering a pizza. He's not even hungry; in fact, the idea of eating is enough to make him gag. What he wants is to see Sam, even if just for a moment. That beacon of light, the one and only hope for all of mankind. His heart flutters just thinking about it.

Higgs always tells himself he's going to step out and collect his order in person one of these days. But that would mean putting this business all to an end. No more calling him on a whim whenever the crushing loneliness of existence bears down on him like this. And what did he expect to happen? If Sam doesn't just try to kill him, then what? It's not like Sam would hear out a word he'd say.

_ I just wanted to see you.  _

_ I don't want to hurt you.  _

_ I'm sorry.  _

He finishes off the bottle and chucks it at the wall, watches it shatter into little pieces. "Why the fuck would he believe any of that?"

He's struggling hard to write the email tonight. He always does, writing up some fictional fairy-tale of a happy family that doesn't exist, never did. The idea of a loving family is so foreign to him that these little vignettes take all of him to concoct. He supposes he could have just said from the start it was for one person, save himself the trouble, but it wouldn't be the same. Sam would be ever more inclined to trudge through kilometres of Timefall with fresh pizza and drinks if he thought it was going towards a big hungry family, not some lonely sad sack looking for any form of human interaction.

Thirty minutes pass, and Higgs starts pacing. Usually, Sam would have been here and gone if he didn't stop to recharge at the generator built outside the shelter first. Higgs likes it when he does that; it gives him more precious, fleeting moments with Sam. But there's no sign of him, no structures built, nothing. He stops and puts his head against the cold concrete of the wall, then he takes his fist and punches it until his knuckles split and singe.

"Dammit, Sam," he slides down the wall and puts his head in his hands. "Where the fuck are you?"

At forty-five minutes, Higgs is a wreck. He figures Sam's too busy, of course, he would be, considering he's the only one standing between the world and mass extinction. Why the hell would he have time to lug a pizza on foot from hundreds of kilometres away? Yet, the feeling of rejection creeps up his spine and attacks his psyche. Perhaps he hadn't written the email well enough, maybe he hadn't made it convincing enough, and Sam had sussed him out. Or  _ worse _ . 

Maybe he's hurt. Caught up by MULEs, beaten unconscious somewhere with Higgs' order stolen and ransacked by the fucking lunatics. Then there'd be no order to deliver, no reason for Sam to drop by. His fingernails dig into his skull as he thinks about it. In his desperation, he considers sending an email asking if he's alright, but he can't. 'Peter Englert' isn't that kind of person, even if Higgs Monaghan is. Sniffles turn into sobs turn into wails. Higgs cries so hard that no sound comes out. All he can do is shake and wretch into his knees.

_ Fragile Express ID verified.  _

The automated voice snaps him to his senses. He scrambles for his chair and turns the monitors on, quickly pulling up the surveillance screen to see Sam enter the arch outside his shelter. Sam stops ahead of the terminal to spray the cargo container to remove any trace of wear before he places it on the cargo shelf, and then he's on his way. Higgs hates how his mood flips in an instant as soon as he sees Sam and his stupid, perfect face. He watches him stop at the generator and beams with delight. Sam opens up the interface of his cufflinks and starts writing something. Higgs feels a little twinge of jealousy towards whoever the recipient might be.

Higgs' laptop screen lights up from down below, which catches him wildly off-guard. He stares down at it in his drunken stupor and sees an incoming mail, for the first time. His heart drops when he sees the name Sam Porter Bridges come up. The contents read as follows:

_ Sorry for the wait.  _

_ Enjoy,  _

_ Sam.  _

He kicks back in his chair and smiles, forgetting the crushing guilt of his existence for one glorious moment. Sam cares enough to apologize, even if he'd never met 'Peter' face to face. Sam  _ cares _ . The feeling overwhelms him, so much so that he doesn't know what to do with himself. He figures writing his usual elaborate and meandering excuse for not accepting the delivery in person can wait. For tonight, he decides he does want to eat after all.

Still buzzed and assuaged by Sam's visit, Higgs lays down on his cot. He reaches up for the bookshelf and pulls down a book. It's not just any book, though. He flits through the pages and finds what he's looking fora photo of Sam. He'd just gotten out of a hot spring; his skin gleaming with moisture, hair wet against his face, that toned body entirely exposed to the elements. Of course, he's ashamed of himself for taking it but not ashamed enough to get rid of it.

That cross-shaped scar on his stomach always draws Higgs' attention. He traces his finger over it on the photograph, wonders what it'd feel like under his tongue. _ Fuck,  _ he's hard. He holds the photo with one hand, tugs the waistband of his sweatpants down with the other. He lightly runs his fingers along the curve of his cock and feels it twitch in anticipation. His knuckles still burn from his fit earlier, but he doesn't care. He takes his cock in his hand and closes his eyes.

The fantasy always starts the same way. He's laid on his back with Sam pinning him down, legs on either side of his torso. He doesn't struggle, doesn't fight; he accepts what's to come. He waits for Sam's hands to wrap around his neck, squeeze down hard with no sign of mercy, possessed by red-hot rage. He wonders what sort of face Sam would make when he choked the life out of him, would he smile as he did it? Or would he show some pity for the pathetic man who was always destined to lose?

Tonight is different, though. Sam's hands don't make a beeline for his neck; instead, they slowly move towards his face. His right hand gently strokes his jaw, the other one runs through his hair. Sam's face comes closer to his own, and his heart lurches in his chest. He gazes into those baby blue eyes for a moment before Sam's lips meet his own. It's chaste and soft at first until Higgs kisses him back with a fervent need. He wraps his arms around Sam's neck and pulls him closer, groaning lowly against his lips.

Higgs doesn't know when he came, exactly, but it's apparent when he notices the tepid and sticky sensation of come pooled on his stomach. He falls asleep in the afterglow of it all, doesn't even bother to clean himself up. It's nestled here that he finds solace, all alone with his darkest fantasies, his only friends.


End file.
